


no light will touch your face again

by angelfishofthelord



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Related, Emotional Hurt, Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Season/Series 10, angel grace, except someone doesn't survive, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:33:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28517949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelfishofthelord/pseuds/angelfishofthelord
Summary: Sam gets the call in the middle of interrogating a demon. He puts down the knife, wipes the blood from his hands, and steps out of the devil’s trap to put the phone to his ear.“Sam Winchester?” a woman’s voice asks on the other end of the line.“Who’s this?” He adjusts the sling on his right arm and dabs his sleeve at the sweat on his forehead.“Hannah.”
Relationships: Castiel & Hannah (Supernatural), Castiel & Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	no light will touch your face again

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a whim yesterday. I'm a big fan of reading deathfics but never wrote any. Imagine my surprise when I found out that writing a deathfic absolutely pulverizes you.
> 
> TW: grief and loss. I know that that seems obvious enough but when I was writing this it actually triggered a lot of emotions for me about someone I'd lost last year. Grief is an insidious thing and for anyone who's lost someone this story might not be an easy read.

Sam gets the call in the middle of interrogating a demon. He puts down the knife, wipes the blood from his hands, and steps out of the devil’s trap to put the phone to his ear.

“Sam Winchester?” a woman’s voice asks on the other end of the line.

“Who’s this?” He adjusts the sling on his right arm and dabs his sleeve at the sweat on his forehead.

“Hannah.” There’s hesitation crackling through the line, long enough for Sam to try and place the name. He remembers her, standing next to Castiel in a gray building full of office desks and loyal angels; he remembers her firm gaze as she asked Castiel to punish his brother, her fingers gripped around the silver blade she handed him.

“You know one of my brothers, Castiel,” she explains unnecessarily.

“Cas? Is he with you?” Sam hasn’t heard from Castiel in a week or so, but the last time the angel called he sounded thoroughly exhausted. Sam knew that the borrowed grace wasn’t the same as having his own, but he figured that meant Castiel was just running closer to human than angel and needed time to rest and recharge. He hadn’t asked him to continue interrogating demons to find Dean; it was better if Castiel recuperated enough strength for the confrontation that would likely ensue once Sam actually located his brother.

Again the voice on the other end goes quiet. “Yes, Castiel is here.”

His chest exhales in relief. “Okay, put him on.”

“I can’t. He doesn’t know I’m speaking to you.” He can almost see the frown on her face. “I took this phone from his coat when he was unaware. He was adamant that you not be contacted at any point.”

“At any point in what? Hannah, what’s going on? Where are you?” Behind him the demon starts wriggling again and Sam pins the phone to his ear with his left shoulder and turns around. He unscrews the flask on the table beside him, eliciting a nervous whine from the black-eyed man chained to a chair in front of him. “What’s going on with Cas?”

“He’s dying.”

Sam’s hand jerks forward involuntarily, splashing the holy water over the demon’s face and eliciting a screech that drowns out whatever else Hannah might have said after those two words detonated.

He wheels around, marching out of the dungeon and into the open space of the hallway. “He’s _what_?”

“He’s dying,” Hannah repeats, her voice remarkably steady. “He didn’t wish to impose on you but I understand that humans have a tradition of visiting the ones they love before they are deceased. He spoke of you and your brother as some of the best men he ever knew.” She pauses. “I hope you might want to see him. I could be wrong. There are many things I am learning about humanity these past weeks.”

Sam feels his legs buckle and he slides down to the floor. He holds the phone so tightly to his ear the edges cut into his cheek. “Where are you?” he manages to croak.

She gives him the name of the motel and Sam’s relieved to find out that it’s actually not too far from the Bunker. Then the thought that Castiel might be dying just a thirty minute drive away from him makes the bile rise up in his throat. 

“I’m coming. Tell Cas to hold on until I get there,” Sam breathes. “Tell him to hold on.”

He doesn’t remember the drive to the motel a few miles away. He remembers calling Dean over and over, leaving the exact same message each time. _Cas is dying. Cas is dying._ It gets harder and harder to say the sentence coherently.

When he arrives at Room 302 Hannah opens the door before he knocks. She’s standing there wearing a soft gray pantsuit and her hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her pale green eyes don’t have the same steely resolve he remembers from their last meeting. They’re clouded with fear and desperation.

“Come in,” she says simply, turning around and leading him into the room. The blinds are down, offering little light to illuminate the figure on the bed. But it’s unmistakably Castiel.

Except it’s not. It’s a Castiel with cheeks gaunt and face ashen gray, sweat glistening from his forehead down to his neck. It’s a Castiel shivering despite the layers of blankets piled on him. It’s a Castiel with faded blue eyes that blink faintly as Sam drops to his knees beside him.

“Sam,” he whispers hoarsely, barely managing to lift his head towards Hannah who stands apologetically at the foot of the bed.

“ _Cas_.” Sam feels for his hand under the covers and when he finds Castiel’s fingers they are icy cold and too weak to curl around his own. “Cas, what happened? What’s happening?” He turns to Hannah, voice rising in hysteria. “What’s going on, why is he dying? Who did this?”

“He did.” Hannah moves the other side of the bed and sits down, taking her place with familiarity. There’s a bowl of water on the bedstand beside him and she dips a towel into it and methodically begins wiping it across Castiel’s forehead. “The grace inside him is stolen. It does not belong. It has been corroding him, day after day, until now it will extinguish him completely.”

“Okay, what can we do about it? Can we get his grace back or some more grace from somewhere else?”

Hannah looks somewhat chagrined at the question. “I attempted to bargain a deal with Metatron. His freedom in exchange for what remains of Castiel’s grace. Castiel refused. He says he has made his choice. I will not go against his wishes, Sam Winchester.”

“No, Cas, come on we can fix this. We don’t have to let Metraton go but we can find a way to make him tell us where your grace is.” He squeezes the numb hand, rubbing circles against the back of the hand with his thumb. “We’ll figure it out, just hold on a little longer, okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t know, Cas, I didn’t know.”

“Dean.” The angel looks at Sam with such vivid clarity as he speaks the name. “You need to save him.” The simple sentence takes too much energy already; Castiel doubles over, coughing a spray of blood into his palm and Hannah leans over and wipes his hand clean.

It’s clear that there’s a routine of care here, the way Hannah gently lifts Castiel up to a sitting position against the headboard and then drums rhythmically on his back as he seizes up in a spasm of coughing. She’s been the one caring for him, Sam realizes, and she would have been the only one to watch him die if she hadn’t called. He had been so busy trying to save his brother that he hadn’t stop to think about the other member of his family, the one who thought it would be less trouble if he simply died without even saying goodbye.

Castiel finally stops to suck in a ragged breath. He scoots forward until his legs swing over the side, feet planted on the floor but he can’t quite stand up. Instead he presses his forehead to Hannah’s shoulder and closes his eyes. “It’s time,” he whispers.

Her eyes immediately crease in sorrow but she nods slowly.

Sam stands up, shaking his head vehemently. “No, no, Cas, it’s not gonna happen like this. I’ll find a way, I promise, I--” he stops when he sees Hannah drop her blade from her sleeve and position it at Castiel’s throat. “What are you doing? No, Hannah, don’t.” He scrambles around to the other side of the bed, clamping his fingers around her wrist. “Please don’t. Let me find a way to fix this.”

“Sam.” Castiel’s fingers fumble, trying to pull his off. “It’s…for Dean.”

“What?”

Hannah pulls a small vial out of her jacket pocket and puts it in her lap. “The grace. What remains of it might be used in a spell to remove the mark on your brother’s arm. Castiel will die with or without the grace, but he believes this might be useful for you and your brother.”

“Cas…” Sam shakes his head still. He can’t. He can’t watch this, he can’t let this happen. “You don’t have to do this, Cas.”

Castiel makes a weary noise in the back of his throat that’s probably the start of a sentence but he never manages to speak it. He just leans harder against Hannah, his arms hanging down loosely and chest barely rising and falling. She draws an arm around his shoulders and picks up the blade again. Her eyes are swimming but she manages to keep her hand steady as she points the sharp end at his bobbing throat. “This is Castiel’s last request. I intend to honor it, Sam Winchester.” She looks up at him imploringly. “Would you help me with it?”

Sam blinks through the tears pooling in his eyes. He bends down in front of the angel, one knee on the cold floor, and picks up the vial. His hands shake as he uncaps it slowly.

Castiel’s lips crack slightly; he lifts his chin up, keeping his eyes closed, but mouths the words _“thank you.”_

Hannah pushes the blade in and white wisps come pouring out of the bleeding slit. Sam holds the vial closer, letting the sizzling swarm flow in until it’s full. Hannah puts the blade down on the bedside dresser and smooths a hand over Castiel’s throat, sealing the cut.

“It is done, brother,” she says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. A tear slides down her cheek and drips off her chin.

Castiel slumps against her with a faint smile. His eyes crack open, a thin silver of blue, and he places a hand on Sam’s knee. “Sam,” he exhales, so softly and full of life.

“ _No_.” Sam lunges forward, pulling Castiel closer and burying his face into his sweat-soaked dress shirt. “No, no, no,” he sobs, twisting the fabric in his grasping fingers. “No, Cas, no, _please_ , no.”

Hannah holds them both, rocking back and forth silently.

Eventually Sam peels himself away and rises to his feet. Hannah cradles Castiel’s body in both arms, her chin nestled in his hair. Her eyes are fixed on the wallpaper in front of them and she doesn’t move when Sam finally speaks.

“Do you want to--we need to--” he wets his lips. He can’t recognize his own voice anymore. “We need to take him somewhere.”

“He’s gone,” Hannah states firmly. “There’s nowhere for him go anymore.”

Sam swallows hard. “We can give him a funeral. It’s--it’s a way of honoring someone.”

Her arms tighten a little around Castiel. “Yes. He deserves to be honored.”

Hannah carries him out into the backseat of the Impala and sits there with his head on her lap and his coat draped over him. Sam drives with that vial of grace in his pocket like a millstone around his neck. Every inch of him screams to be rid of the evidence of his neglect, and also cries out to be treasured as the last sacrifice of an angel who always gave too much for them.

When they finish building the pyre Hannah steps back and takes Sam’s hands in hers. He’s surprised by the gesture, wondering if she saw it somewhere on television. She glances up and notices his expression.

“Is this inappropriate?” she asks, withdrawing her hand. “I apologize. I am still understanding the customs of human responses to their dead.”

Sam reaches out and wraps his fingers around hers. “It’s fine,” he says. “You’re a good friend, Hannah. Thank you for taking care of him.” His eyes are misting again but he presses on. “Thank you for calling me.”

“I did not like you and your brother,” she informs him. “But it was evident to me that Castiel loved you both greatly. I do not understand it fully, but it would amiss to not respect the depth of that love.”

 _That love has killed him,_ Sam thinks, and he almost drops the lighter. Hannah waits for him to pick it up and finally throw it atop the pile of logs.

Flames rise up quickly, enveloping the white-wrapped body and they stand there, hand in hand, watching as smoke funnels gracefully through the air.

“Castiel healed me when we first met,” Hannah says into the crackling heat. “I survived a slaughter at the hands of Gadreel. I did not recognize Castiel at first and I tried to attack him.”

Sam smiles a little at the story. He remembers pulling a gun on Castiel the first time he saw him too.

“Castiel said ‘I’m not here to hurt you.’ He listened to me. He healed me.” She raises two fingers and presses them to the center of her forehead, mimicking the action that’s so familiar to Sam and now suddenly burns in his chest to witness. “I had not been healed by another angel for so long. It is a gift rarely given freely, and certainly not since the Fall and the ensuing chaos that reigned. Yet he offered it to me of his own volition. He did not know me, but extended kindness and compassion unbidden. That is something we do not expect to receive from our own kind.”

“Yeah, he’s like that.” Sam swallows hard. _Was._ “He’s always been good like that.”

Smoke curls higher, reaching the blue of the sky above and Hannah closes her eyes. “I wanted to save him,” she says quietly. “I tried to save him, Sam Winchester. Instead I had to watch him die. I watched him suffer for so many days and I could not save--” her breath hitches and Sam pulls her into his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, his cheek pressing against her dark hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

It’s twilight by the time the body is reduced to a scatter of charred embers. Hannah follows Sam back to the Impala and stands there as he fumbles with the keys, hands in her pockets.

“Do you--do you need a lift anywhere?” Sam asks.

She shakes her head. “I have to continue my work in finding the rogue angels. Castiel sacrificed much to unite Heaven and I will not let his vision fall to ruin. I have my mission.” Her hands pats his jacket pocket where the vial of grace sits heavy. “And you have yours. Do not fail.”

Sam nods. “I won’t,” he manages. “I won’t fail him.”

They both know he means Castiel.

After Hannah leaves Sam sits idling in the car. The keys are in the ignition but he can’t bring himself to turn them. His fingers feel for the smooth glass walls of the vial in his pocket and he thinks of his brother. He reaches for his phone and dials again, waiting until the ringing stops and it goes to voicemail.

“Hey. Look,” he begins. “I don’t know if you--I don’t know if you’re in a state to care right now, but--” he presses a hand to his mouth. “He’s gone. Cas is dead.” The phone slips from his grip and he doesn’t bother to catch it in time before it drops to the ground.

He bows forward, burying his face in his hands. It hits him, breaking every bone in his body and filling his lungs and he can’t breathe. It can’t be real, but it is because the words just left his mouth, a fact spoken into existence with his own voice and reverberating through his head again and again.

_Cas is_

_Cas is_

_is_

A buzzing sound comes from below, at his feet, and he rubs a hand across his face, enough to clear his eyes and pick up the phone and see who’s calling.

His heart clenches as he realizes who it is. _Dean._

**Author's Note:**

> Story title from ["Anthem of the Angels"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rW8C9j-W8BY) by Breaking Benjamin


End file.
